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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609685">Take</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMayonnaise/pseuds/MermaidMayonnaise'>MermaidMayonnaise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:32:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,004</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMayonnaise/pseuds/MermaidMayonnaise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something about Hinata that screams <i>all eyes on me</i> and Kageyama can’t tear his fucking eyes away.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Take</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wave my magic author wand, and bam! Now they're of age. Huge thanks to Eos and Bee for beta. 2.21.21</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kageyama doesn’t know what exactly makes something beautiful, but he assumes it’s in the eye of the beholder or some shit like that. Kageyama isn’t a poet and he doesn’t have the words to describe things—neither does Hinata, but when Hinata doesn’t have the words then he <em> creates, </em> makes them out of nothing at all, just like the opportunities and wins and losses. </p><p>All the paths stretching in front of them include the ones they’ve taken and those they’ll never go. Each decision splits them into infinite parts, and every choice has a multitude of possibilities. Due to their choices or the inexorability of chance, they met each other. On that day, something was destroyed between them; maybe it was the possibility of being healthy or <em> happy, </em>but Kageyama knows it had nothing to do with being beautiful. </p><p>He saw Hinata and thought <em> stupid </em> and <em> moron, </em> but he also thought <em> mine mine mine, </em>and for Kageyama, that is the way things are. Everything after that was inevitable. Kageyama shouldn’t have been surprised when Hinata gestured wildly at him, shouted something incomprehensible, and pulled him into a bruising kiss. </p><p>Kageyama’s eyes were open the entire time so he saw the blush spreading across Hinata’s cheeks, red and pink contrasting horribly against the orange of his hair and brows and lashes. The details of the path are variable but the result is the same every single time.</p><p>He doesn’t know what beauty is, but he’s starting to think that Hinata might embody it. Not the fire-orange hair, the eyes, the stocky body—but the <em> motion, </em>beautiful, precise, parabolic. Jumping higher into the future that the two of them will inexorably share. </p><p>Kageyama peers into where they have to go and sees smoking mist and hears the fluttering of wings, wispy and distant. He hears Hinata’s crowing and blinks to the present with the squeak of shoes on the polished floor; feels the sweat dripping down his back and smells the musk of the gym. It’s night and it’s the two of them, because it always is. Hinata’s waving to get his attention, and Kageyama blinks images of the feathery future out of his eyes and sets him the ball.</p><p>Kageyama doesn’t understand beauty; he understands precision and accuracy and that scoring wins sets and makes games. Touching the ball makes it go a certain way. Every minute adjustment makes it go in a different direction and the sounds that it makes are different whether it hits the spiker’s hand or the floor of the opposing team’s court; when he touches Hinata and Hinata groans and squeaks and squeals and moans, depending on the place, depending on the time.</p><p>But people call Kageyama’s playing beautiful, and Kageyama doesn’t <em> understand. </em>It’s all mathematical and he’s shit at calculus, but he understands that on the court he’s unstoppable, brilliant. He does what he wants and everyone else interlocks and interweaves, while he’s the one controlling it all. Kageyama’s the setter and that means that he’s the king, tyrannical and honest and true. Hinata is the only one that truly sees Kageyama for who he is and he is the only one that stays. There aren’t words to fit them. They just are.</p><p>Kageyama is not beautiful, because when he looks in the mirror he only sees himself. There’s something deep inside both of them, crucial and fundamental and different. It’s what separates them from everyone else and connects them to each other, makes them yell and hit and fuck. When he looks at Hinata, he only sees Hinata the person, the—not friend, not lover. He and Hinata are something different, something <em> more. </em></p><p>They are two of a kind but they are one together. Kageyama still doesn’t understand love, but he knows that it’s important. He and Hinata are honest and constant and <em> real, </em>more physical than anyone else. He touches Hinata and feels the hot skin under his fingertips, smoothes his palms over thin hips and knows the inevitability of the two of them together, and still Kageyama doesn’t know what love is.</p><p>They’re in the empty locker room when Kageyama thinks <em>take it </em> while Hinata swallows his cock like he was born to do it, lets his throat go slack and takes everything Kageyama has to give. Kageyama thrusts forward because he wants to remove the bliss on Hinata’s face, illustrated in the stretch of his mouth and the fluttering of his eyelashes. Hinata opens those chocolate eyes and chokes around Kageyama’s cock; all Kageyama can think is <em> take it, take it, take it all. </em></p><p>It’s the same every time everywhere, on the court or in the bedroom or running next to each other on the sidewalk; Kageyama’s hyperaware of everything Hinata does, and if what you do is who you are then that means Kageyama knows Hinata, <em> knows </em>him, knows him deep and rough, down into the places where other people don’t go and that—</p><p>It’s another time and place where Hinata begs and pleads on the bed under him, and Kageyama pushes his cock in and Hinata gets louder. Kageyama begins to move and relishes the cries that escape Hinata’s plush and swollen lips. Hinata wraps his legs around Kageyama’s hips and forces him deeper. Kageyama wants to close his eyes but that means that Hinata will be out of his sight. He wants to look and look and look, because there is something about Hinata that screams <em> all eyes on me </em> and Kageyama can’t tear his fucking eyes away. </p><p>Hinata plays because he’s addicted to the feeling of being at the top of the motion, where the upwards velocity is zero. He’s only moving forward and there’s a feeling of free weightlessness. Kageyama doesn’t know what that means, but Hinata always talks about it with a certain light in his eyes, different from the enthusiasm he usually has. </p><p>Hinata spills out words like a sieve but never says anything of value that Kageyama can decipher. Sometimes Kageyama thinks that Hinata’s going to run empty, but that’s an injustice to everything Hinata is. Bright and proud and strong, just as much as Kageyama. If Hinata wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to receive and reciprocate, hit it back and score and <em> win. </em>Kageyama thinks that maybe this is what love must be like.</p><p>Kageyama <em> doesn’t </em>fucking know what defines beauty, because beauty is probably just one of those concepts that describes nothing at all. There is only the clinical inevitability of math and physics, the trajectory of the path and the spin of the ball, motion and rotation. There are fingers on the cloth of the ball and fingers splitting Hinata open; tossing it upwards towards the sky and listening to the yelling of Hinata hitting and scoring. </p><p>Kageyama plays because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. He saw players on the court and heard the thud of the ball on hardwood, and knew that was what he was going to do when he picked up the ball for the first time. </p><p>Everything from then onwards was predetermined and joining a team was just a formality; Kageyama was meant to play volleyball just like Hinata was meant to reach towards the sky and jump as high as he could because that's just the way things are. </p><p>For Hinata, volleyball is a way for him to touch the clear blue of the above, but he could’ve done it in infinite other ways. Grasping for the sky without knowing why, only that he has to spring and bounce and jump. One day, he’ll grow wings and fly.</p><p>Kageyama is content on the ground where the earth is steadily flat underneath his sneakers. When he steps, he’ll know where his foot will fall; when he trips, he knows exactly where he’ll go. </p><p>Hinata leaves his fate to the force of gravity, defined through numbers and symbols while remaining a mystery. Gravity is elusive in the same way as Hinata—predictable in the outcome but not as to why.</p><p>If Hinata is an enigma to Kageyama, then he’s sure that it’s the same the other way around, or maybe not. It’s a toss-up whether Hinata knows what Kageyama will do or not, and if he understands why Kageyama does the things he does. </p><p>Kageyama sees things that are meant to be and believes his intuition. He grabs on and hangs tight, because his path is predetermined but the details are up to him. Hinata isn’t <em> like </em>that—he’s predictably unpredictable, and when he’s cornered he’ll always find another way to try something new. He somehow has the discipline and attention span for ceaseless practice, and who knows who taught it to him. </p><p>Hinata says Kageyama’s played volleyball all his life so that’s the only thing he knows how to do, and maybe Hinata’s wrong and maybe he’s right, but Kageyama loves it like he loves—well, the feeling of the ball leaving his hands, the hefty smack of a body against the floor, the endless scream of victory.</p><p>Kageyama—he <em> likes </em> that, likes the sensations that come with volleyball. He likes it even more with Hinata. When they’re together, <em> really </em>together, they’re just using their bodies in a different way with no rules between them. </p><p>Everything exists simultaneously, and as Hinata soars, Kageyama hears Hinata’s screams as Kageyama brushes over that spot and tortures it, abuses it, because he wants to see Hinata writhe in a way that only he can control, and god, take it, Shouyou, just take it,<em> take it all. </em></p><p><em> Are you flying, Hinata? </em> Kageyama wants to ask. <em> How does it feel to break free and soar? </em></p><p>Kageyama will never ask this question, and Hinata will never answer. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know what to say. Some sensations are indescribable and the feeling of pure joy is one. Not everything can be considered through comparison. Unless someone learns the hunger to fly upwards and onwards, then they’ll never know.</p><p>The difference between Kageyama and Hinata can be summed up quite nicely. Hinata wants, and Kageyama <em> needs. </em></p><p>Hinata wants and wants and wants, perpetually unsatisfied by all-consuming hunger. He goes higher and higher with a wide grin on his face, because he knows he’ll never be full and satisfied. He <em> wants </em> to continue reaching, <em> wants </em> to fight, <em> wants </em>to be starving.</p><p>Hinata wouldn’t be himself otherwise.</p><p>Kageyama hears the heavy sound of Hinata’s shoes hitting the floor: strong, powerful. Hinata flies through the air, hair whipping around his face, clothes fluttering like feathers, arm raised and muscles bunched, and yet the only thing that Kageyama can see is the wide smile on Hinata’s face: wild and free.</p><p>There’s no ball but the motion of climbing higher and higher remains, until Hinata reaches the apex. Hinata’s face is so different when he comes compared to when he spikes—he’s fierce in two different ways—but there is something exactly the same in both expressions. </p><p>It takes Kageyama a while to pinpoint it, but once he realizes, the similarity is obvious: blissful, enraptured happiness. Hinata falls down, accelerating, eventually brought to rest on cooling sheets, wrapped up in Kageyama’s arms. There are no more sounds but the cloth shifting and Hinata’s tiny sighs of sweet contentment.</p><p>Hinata is his and that is how things are. Hinata is wild and untamable and free but he is Kageyama’s. Hinata isn’t caged but there’s an instinct within him, just like the migration of birds, telling Hinata that no matter how far he flies, he’ll always find his way back.</p><p>What more could Kageyama need?</p><p>He’s different from Hinata, Kageyama thinks as he spills into Hinata’s pliant body. Kageyama needs rather than wants. It’s like breathing, in that it’s not a luxury but a necessity. Kageyama needs because he lives, and lives because he needs. He still doesn’t know what love or beauty is—beautiful love, lovely beauty—and doesn’t think he ever will. Kageyama sees Hinata reaching towards the sky and needs Hinata’s want, and that is all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The song for this fic is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAW5JibpkTY"><span>Grenade</span></a> by Bruno Mars, b/c I think I'm funny.</p><p>This story was born from several things: I read my first kagehina <i>(again</i> by bigspoonnoya), and I was feeling a bit odd. My tumblr is mermaidmayonnaise and my twt is mermaidmayo. I love comments, and I always respond. Thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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